


S. vulgaris

by JesMorgann



Category: Original Work
Genre: F/F, Short One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-27
Updated: 2018-08-27
Packaged: 2019-07-03 10:17:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15816879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JesMorgann/pseuds/JesMorgann
Summary: This is a short creative writing piece I wrote. I wanted to try a few new things while writing it, and I think I finally came up with the final draft. Please let me know what you think!





	S. vulgaris

Lilacs.   
Lilacs and mud.   
Lilacs and mud and grass.   
Inhale.   
Exhale.   
A slight breeze is swaying the creaky branches of an old oak tree.   
You’re going to be alright. Inhale.   
Are you going to be alright? Exhale.   
The early afternoon sun is casting its rays across your back.   
Inhale. Exhale.   
Lilacs. 

Why are there so many damn lilacs? 

You planted the lilacs. That’s why there are so many. You wanted to always be able to smell their sweet, clean, captivating scent. You wanted there to be so many lilacs that every May for the rest of your life you would be completely overcome with their enthralling aroma. Lilacs smell like home. They smell like safety. They smell like her. 

Lilacs smell like the first time you told her that you loved her. You were sitting under that old wooden bridge that traverses the river near where you grew up. The water was dancing over large, rounded rocks, and small droplets kept leaping up to kiss your skin. She was charming, intriguing, and so very beautiful. You picked up one of those petite, purple, four-pedaled flowers and placed it in her waist-length brunette waves. Her perfect smile could outshine the sun, and her gentle laughter would give the birds reason to sing. Those three important words just slipped out, but a truer sentence had never been said. 

Nearly two years later, you took her to that same old bridge. You gave her a bouquet of the flowers that had become a symbol for your love to each other. Holding the branches together was a small, white-gold band with a stone almost as perfect as she was. You can’t remember her saying yes, but you know she did. Your heart changed that day. 

Your first home together was a single-story, tan, ranch style house nuzzled between a quaint brick church and a winding creek, not unlike the river you grew up next to. It had a small yard, and it needed a lot of work, but it was home. As long as she was by your side, nothing really mattered. You lined the fence with those beautiful flowering bushes and filled the house with her beautiful laughter. You loved those gorgeous lilacs. You loved that home. And you loved her. 

You love her. 

It should be raining today. She would have wanted it to rain. She said that the rain washed away all of the bad, dead stuff in the world. If all the rain in the universe were to pour down on you in this moment, it still wouldn’t be enough to make today okay. Nothing in this world could take away the pain that you feel right now. Your soul is dead. Everything in the world that was good is dead. She is dead—her soft skin and her soft heart wrapped in a ball of aluminum foil on the side of the highway. 

You wish that she was here to comfort you. She always knew exactly what to say and what to do when you shut down like this. “Remember to breathe,” she’d tell you. “Just ground yourself. What do you see? What do you hear? What do you smell?” 

There are voices calling for you. A woman is yelling your name from the thick wooden doors of the church. You know that you can hear her, but your brain isn’t comprehending the words. She’s coming closer. You want to run and hide, but you can’t move. You are crying. When did you start crying? You can’t see anything. There are arms around you, telling you to get up. They help you straighten out your black dress. They tell you it will all be okay. 

It won’t be okay. 

You see trees and buildings and cars.   
You hear voices, music, crying, children playing, and a distant car alarm.   
And you smell lilacs. 

You will always smell lilacs.


End file.
